


The Things We Did And Didn’t Do

by qodarkness



Series: Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 Love Songs, Abusive Relationships, Another piece of the Theon/Sansa puzzle, Domestic Violence, F/M, Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin Universe, M/M, Magnetic Fields, Modern AU, Songfic, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qodarkness/pseuds/qodarkness
Summary: If there was anyone who was the very definition of a scion, it was Joffrey Baratheon.All golden hair and skin with eyes as green as moss, he was handsome and charming and the son of one of Ned Stark’s oldest, richest, most powerful friends. Robert Baratheon hadn’t visited Winterfell in many years, but when he, his stunningly icy wife and his oldest son had finally visited, Sansa Stark had been swept off her feet.Content Warning: This story involves descriptions of domestic abuse, up to and including domestic violence and coercive sexual relationships. I have not described the physical aspects in any great detail, but the story sets out the psychological processes that take place within domestically abusive/coercive relationships and this may cause distress for some readers.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy (past), Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581478
Kudos: 47





	The Things We Did And Didn’t Do

If there was anyone who was the very definition of a scion, it was Joffrey Baratheon. 

All golden hair and skin with eyes as green as moss, he was handsome and charming and the son of one of Ned Stark’s oldest, richest, most powerful friends. Robert Baratheon hadn’t visited Winterfell in many years, but when he, his stunningly icy wife and his oldest son had finally visited, Sansa Stark had been swept off her feet. 

The romance was whirlwind, unexpected after how shattered she had been by the sudden end of her relationship with Harry Hardyng (though if anyone had asked Sansa, she probably would have confessed that it was the end of her friendship with Jeyne Poole that hurt more). It surprised everyone when Sansa announced she wasn’t going to take up her University course at Winterfell, but instead go to King’s Landing with Joffrey to study there. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Catelyn asked Sansa quietly one evening. “I know what happened with Harry and Jeyne was terrible, but I just wonder if you aren’t going into this a little fast. Maybe over-reacting?”

Sansa rolled her eyes at her mother. “ _I’m_ over-reacting?” she replied. “Jon quit University and went to live up past Castle Black to learn to be a dog musher and _I’m_ over-reacting because I want to move to the best University in the biggest city in Westeros and live with the man I love? The son of one of dad’s oldest friends? I thought you’d be thrilled.”

Catelyn reached out and tucked a strand of Sansa’s hair behind her ear. “I am thrilled. A bit. But you’re my baby girl. You want to move halfway across the country and be all grown up and live with a man.” There was the sheen of tears in her eyes as she looked at Sansa but her smile was proud. “It’s hard watching your babies grow up. But you know I trust you to make good decisions.”

Sansa smiled and reaching forward, gave her mother a hug. “It’ll be great, Mum,” she said. “I’m excited. Living somewhere new. And Joffrey…” A smile blossomed across Sansa’s face. “He’s so lovely, Mum. He treats me so well. Like I’m the centre of his world. It’s going to be alright.”

*****

_The knock on Sansa’s bedroom door had come late at night, as she continued to pack up her stuff. It took her completely by surprise when she opened it to see Theon standing there. He raised an eyebrow and she nodded, letting him in. He looked around to see every flat surface covered with clothing and other items Sansa was packing and finally perched on the windowsill, leaving the bed for Sansa to sit on._

_“What’s up?” Sansa asked, after the silence had gone on a little longer than she expected._

_Theon tilted his head and then finally said, “I want you to memorise my phone number.”_

_“Whaaaaaaat?” asked Sansa. “Is this some kind of weird way of trying to get in my pants before I go…”_

_“Gods, no, Sansa,” replied Theon and looked away for a moment, then finally seemed to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say. “I don’t trust Joffrey,” he said._

_“Theon.” Sansa huffed a laugh. “You don’t trust anybody. That isn’t, you know, Robb. Or Yara.”_

_“Or you,” added Theon, then said, “No, I don’t. I learned not to. And I learned that everyone needs to have an escape route. We all just press a name on a contact list on our phones these days when we call someone. But I want you to memorise my phone number. Recite it back to me. Make sure you can remember it no matter how stressed out you are.”_

_“Theon!” Sansa laughed again. “You’re being paranoid.”_

_“Then let me be paranoid,” he replied. “Don’t do it for you. Do it for me. Because I’m weird and had bad things happen to me and_ I _need the reassurance that you know my number, that if ever you need to walk out the door in King’s Landing with nothing but the clothes you stand in, you can find a way to call me. That I know you’ll have someone at the other end of a phone line who will always answer the phone and come and get you, no matter what’s happened to you.” He looked down at his hands, fingers lacing over each other, the missing little finger a gap that would never be filled. “Do it for me, Sans.”_

 _Sansa looked at Theon closely, then shrugged. “You don’t need to worry, Theon, but sure, I’ll do it for you. You know I’ve got a good memory.” She smiled softly at him. “But Joffrey loves me. Like_ really _loves me. You don’t have to worry.”_

_Theon looked away at the door, then back to Sansa. “Did I ever tell you how it started with Ramsay?”_

_“No,” replied Sansa. She’d been too young then, hadn’t gone to the pubs and clubs with Theon and Robb, had never found out how Ramsay had got his claws into Theon._

_“You know - then. I mean, you were young, but you know I didn’t much care about who I fucked,” said Theon, softly. “I mean, girls by preference, but if a pretty enough boy asked - well, a warm mouth around your cock is a warm mouth around your cock, right?”_

_“Theon!” exclaimed Sansa. “Too much information!”_

_Theon shrugged. “I didn’t care. That was the main thing, Sans. About anyone I fucked. I didn’t… know how to work that way, back then. And I was in a bad space at the time, after Rodrik and Maron and my fucking father, and I just wanted someone to fuck me or hurt me or both. And Ramsay found me. His perfect victim. He knew what he was looking for. And he - I’ve never known anything like it. I was the centre of his world. He was like a laser - gods, he made me think that I was loved. That I was worth love. And you think it’s because they love you, but it’s because they want to own you.”_

_Sansa went to say something, stopped and bit it back behind her teeth, realising that it wasn’t the time to snap at Theon about thinking the worst of Joffrey, when he was baring his soul to her in a way she’d never expected. Instead, softly, she said, “I don’t think Joffrey’s like that, Theon. He just loves me. Lot of people fall in love without - turning into Ramsay.”_

_“I know,” said Theon. “I really do know that. You may not believe me - seven hells, I barely believe me, but I really do know that.” He laughed, somewhat shakily. “Took a hell of a lot of therapy to get there, though. And Robb. And you. And Yara. But just - let me tell you.”_

_“Sure,” said Sansa._

_“Do you remember how fast I disappeared? Went to Dreadfort, dropped off every radar. Even Robb’s.” Sansa nodded. Robb had been pissed that Theon had so completely, so unexpectedly, dumped him for a boyfriend. “That wasn’t my choice. Not really. I mean I went along with it a bit, but once Ramsay got me to Dreadfort he found ways to cut me off from everyone. He didn’t take my phone off me straight away, but there was always some reason why I shouldn’t answer a text or an email, shouldn’t make a call. Then he got me to give him all my passwords and - I didn’t realise until later, he was deleting stuff before I ever saw it. He made me believe that Robb was so pissed off with me going off with Ramsay that Robb was the one that had cut contact. Drowned God.” Theon rubbed his hands over his face. “I was so stupid. But I trusted him so much. He was everything. He made himself everything. He cut me off from everyone else and he did it so fast and I never even knew he was doing it.”_

*****

“What are you doing?” Joffrey asked Sansa. 

“I’ve got to ring home,” said Sansa, smiling at her boyfriend. “It’s Bran’s birthday. I need to call him and say happy birthday.”

“But we’ve got dinner bookings,” said Joffrey, frowning. 

“It won’t take long,” Sansa reassured him.

“It will. It’ll take too long. You know once you start talking, you won’t stop. It took me forever to get those bookings. Gods, you know a restaurant is popular when they won’t let a Baratheon skip the queue.” Joffrey reached out and took the phone out of Sansa’s hand; she was so startled, she let him take it. “You don’t have time to call Bran now. We need to go. You can text him later.”

“But I want to call him,” said Sansa, and her voice became small towards the end as anger flashed across Joffrey’s face. 

“I got us bookings, Sans.” Joffrey’s expression modulated, turning to something slightly hurt. “You know how much I love you and how much I was looking forward to taking you out. You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“Of course not!” Sansa said, reassuringly, kissing Joffrey on the cheek. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. It’ll take too long. I’ll go get ready now.”

It was only late that night, when she went to text Bran, that she realised that Joffrey had never given her phone back. It was days before he remembered where he’d put it and gave it back to her. 

That’s what he told her and she loved him and so she believed him.

*****

_Sansa smiled at Theon, reassuringly. “You know that’s not going to happen to me, Theon. Gods, I’m a Stark. It’s not like my family understands boundaries. If they don’t hear from me for too long, Robb’ll be on a plane in no time.”_

_“That’s what I thought, too,” said Theon softly. “That Robb would always be there for me. On the end of the phone. A text. Whatever. But then he wasn’t. And then - then there started to be rules. Things I could do. Things I couldn’t do. And I’d break the rules, and he’d get angry at me, and it was my fault, always my fault, because I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do the right things. So if he had to punish me for breaking the rules, then it was my fault for not being good enough. And Robb wouldn’t answer my texts or my emails and well, that had to be my fault, because I’d let him down. I wasn’t good enough.” Theon ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I didn’t know Robb didn’t see any of those texts, any of those emails. Ramsay saw them all and made sure that Robb never did. And he knew what I’d written, and I was so stupid…” Theon paused for a moment, shook his head. “Ramsay_ made me _stupid. The rules kept changing all the time. His mood kept changing, all the time. I was exhausted, trying to keep up. Trying to make sure I didn’t upset him. Make him angry. Make him punish me. Because it was my fault, it had to be my fault, because the only person I had contact with kept telling me over and over again that it was my fault and eventually I didn’t have any choice but to believe him.”_

_Sansa leaned forward then, as far as she could, touched her hand reassuringly to the back of Theon’s. He turned his head away from her, sniffed, swallowing tears down._

_“He made me so ashamed, Sansa,” said Theon, very quietly. “And shame - isolates you even more. How could I ever ask Robb for help when I was so useless and broken and frightened and tired and couldn’t manage to stick to the simplest rules without getting them wrong? Why would anyone but Ramsay ever care about someone who was so pathetic? That’s what they make you into. They make themselves your entire world, because you have to spend all of your time trying to please them. Trying to appease them. And you never can.”_

_*****_

“I was thinking of going back to Winterfell in my semester break,” said Sansa, introducing the topic somewhat cautiously. Joffrey hated it when she talked about going home, but it felt like it had been far too long since she’d seen or talked to anyone other than him and her Professors. 

Anger ran across Joffrey’s face, settled into the lines of it, his eyes dead with rage. “Why do you want to leave me?” he asked. 

“I don’t… want to leave you,” replied Sansa, taken aback by the accusation. “It’s my family, Joffrey. I just want to see them.”

“You love them more than you love me,” he said, his voice petulant. 

“I don’t! Of course I don’t!” said Sansa. “I love you more than anything, Joffrey, my love. But I just… I’d like to see my mother.” 

“Your mother doesn’t like me. You want to go back to her and she hates me and you want to talk to her behind my back. You want to tell her lies about me.” The accusation was ugly, as ugly as the look on Joffrey’s face. 

“I don’t,” said Sansa, her voice switching to soothing. She’d learned to try and calibrate her responses to Joffrey’s mood, to switch from cajoling to pleading to soothing as his emotions moved, trying to keep ahead of him, to stop him being angry. “I just want to see her.”

“You don’t love me. You want to leave me. That’s what you want to do.” Joffrey’s face was growing redder, a danger sign Sansa was learning to read. 

“I don’t,” replied Sansa again. She watched the colour suffusing Joffrey’s face, switched tack again. “Okay, maybe it was a silly idea. Maybe I should stay with you instead.”

“Of course you should stay with me!” shouted Joffrey. “I’m the one you love. Your lover! Your everything! I’m supposed to be your everything! You’re my everything and then you talk about leaving me!”

“I’m not talking about leaving you,” replied Sansa, suddenly panicked. “I’m not. I won’t leave you. I’ll stay here. You don’t need to get upset. It’s okay. I’ll stay here.”

Joffrey stared at her and then his face crumpled, sudden tears in his eyes. “Oh Sansa,” he said, his voice soft and he held out his arms to her, until she went to him and he enfolded her in his arms, his tears hot against her neck. “I’m sorry, darling Sansa. I’m sorry. I just get so mad when you talk about going away. You’re everything to me. Everything! I get jealous, that’s all. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get so jealous but I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s okay, Joffrey,” said Sansa, soothing her hands over his back. “It’s okay. I know you love me. I know you get jealous. We just… we’ll work through it. You don’t have to be jealous. I love you. Let me help you, darling. I’ll make sure you never have to be jealous of anything.”

“Just… just keep proving you love me, Sansa,” said Joffrey. “You just have to prove you love me. More than anything.”

“I will,” said Sansa, fervently. “I will. I’ll prove it, my darling.”

*****

_“The rules were so stupid,” said Theon. “So… he kept changing them. All the time. Trivial things. What I could spend money on. What cologne I could wear. How to make his coffee. Who I could talk to when I bought food. What I could say. What tone of voice I could use. When I could look at him. When I could sleep. Where I could sleep. If I was allowed to sleep in the house or he’d send me out to sleep in the yard with the dogs. If I could bathe. If I could shave. What I was allowed to dress in. And they changed. All the time. What was okay yesterday wasn’t okay today. What I was allowed to do one minute was something to be punished the next. I had to spend every moment trying to work out what the rules were, what they would be in a minute from now. It became the only thing I could ever think of; how to comply with rules I didn’t understand, that could change at any second, to try and not be punished. Every moment was just a moment to get through, a moment to survive and try and make it to the next moment.”_

_*****_

The restaurant was lovely, one of the best in King’s Landing. Joffrey had been nice to Sansa all day and for a moment she allowed her vigilance to relax, to think that maybe this would be a nice meal out with Joffrey’s parents, that maybe all the things she did every day to prove how much she loved him were working and that she was helping him overcome his jealousy.

So she decided she’d wear one of the dresses she’d brought from Winterfell, that she hadn’t worn for ages. It was blue and sequinned, a glittering sheath that skimmed her curves and enhanced them, baring her shoulders and back, dropping down to the floor in a shining fall. Sansa smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror, remembering the round of applause she’d got from Jon and Robb when she’d walked down the stairs for a date with Harry, Theon’s appreciative wolf whistle and comically waggled eyebrows.

She was almost happy all the way to the restaurant, Joffrey quiet beside her as he drove. That shattered when he parked and turned towards her. “Why are you wearing that thing?” he asked harshly. “You look like a slut.”

It was worse than a slap in the face, worse than the pinches Joffrey had taken to delivering to her thighs beneath tables, in bed, (one of the reasons she’d been glad the dress was full length, to hide the mottled bruises that lined her legs), took the air from her lungs as if he’d punched her in the ribs. 

“I… I thought you’d like it,” said Sansa. She knew Joffrey well enough to know not to say that her brothers and Theon had liked it. That would just make it worse. 

“I don’t like it. I fucking hate it,” said Joffrey. “You look like a slut. You want to make everyone look at you. They’ll look at you alright. And they’ll think, look at that slut. Look at that fat slut. What are you trying to do? Make other men look at you? Are you trying to get other men to look at you? I’m the only one that should be looking at you.”

“I thought… I thought… I thought you’d think I was pretty,” whispered Sansa. 

“Pretty fucking slutty,” replied Joffrey. “Looking like a slut when you’re having dinner with my mother. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, Joffrey,” whispered Sansa.

“Well, it’s too late now,” he replied. “We’ll have to go in and everyone in the restaurant will be looking at you, thinking you look like a slut. All night. And when we get home, you’re going to cut that shit up and put it in the bin. You understand me?”

“Yes, Joffrey,” said Sansa.

“And don’t fucking cry,” he said. “It’s bad enough you look like a fat slut, you don’t want to look like a demented fat slut.”

She didn’t cry. She’d learned enough to know not to make things worse, even if she had to swallow her tears down hard. She pasted a smile on her face, followed Joffrey into the restaurant, managed a civil conversation with Robert (who she suspected was already drunk) and Cersei, saying only things she was certain Joffrey would approve of (mostly about how loving and wonderful Joffrey was). 

Then Robert went to the bathroom and Cersei leaned back in her chair, looked over Sansa. “Where did you get that dress, dear?” she asked and Sansa took a second to stop her feelings spilling over. 

“I brought it from Winterfell,” she replied.

“Mmm,” replied Cersei, taking a sip of her wine. “It’s just that little bit slutty, isn’t it dear?” she said, and Sansa’s heart sank. There would be no help there. She was on her own in King’s Landing and Joffrey owned her.

*****

_“He knew where I was,” said Theon. “Every minute of every day. I didn’t know, but there was stuff he’d put on my phone, on my email, on every way of communicating with people that meant that he knew everything I ever said or did. The house had cameras everywhere. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t even think of escaping. And any time he actually let me out of his sight, I’d have to keep telling him where I was. Every twenty minutes. Texts, checking where I was. I’d have to tell him. I’d have to send him photos of where I was. The exact place, and it had to match and he knew where I was all the time. If I was even a room away from where I said I was… Yara… Yara was so clever. Smarter than I was. She tried for a public place, but it wasn’t the right public place. But sending you to get me while he was on a plane, that was smart. He couldn’t track me for a few hours. And I left everything behind. Phone, computer, everything. I think that was the only thing that saved me. Robb got me far enough away from him and put enough barriers in the way that I didn’t have to see him ever again. I might have gone back, if I’d had to see him again. If he could have got to me.”_

_Theon took a deep breath. “If you need to walk away from Joffrey, Sansa, take nothing he’s ever touched. No phone, no cards, no clothes, nothing. Just have some cash put away somewhere and clothes he doesn’t know about, and walk out the door and head somewhere you’ve never been with him, and call me from a phone booth using coins. Once you’ve memorised my number.”_

_*****_

_~Where are you?~_

The texts were insistent, eternal. Over and over she had to answer. In the middle of class, Sansa had to send him photos, confirm where she was. And if she didn’t tell him immediately, then there would be more and more and it was easier to respond quickly than to try and carve out even a moment where she could have privacy. 

He doled out money to her grudgingly, only letting her have funds when he had confirmed exactly what she was going to spend it on, and her receipts had to match what he had given her. 

Her legs had ended up black and blue the day she had spent money from her account (the account she’d almost forgotten about, an old childhood one, the one she thought Joffrey didn’t know of) until, sobbing, she’d had to show him the present she’d brought for him, for his birthday. 

She could keep no secrets from him.

*****

_“Then it would switch,” said Theon. “So quickly. So randomly. When I thought there was only hell, only punishment, he would suddenly change, soothe me, love me, give me presents. And I was like some parched wild creature given water; it was like nectar, for him to be kind to me. It made me love him so much, that he could forgive everything I was doing wrong, everything that was my fault, everything I deserved punishment for, and he could be kind to me. He could still love me, despite how much I failed him, over and over again.”_

_Theon looked down at his hands again, twisting them over and over and Sansa was silent. She didn’t know what to say to this confession, this litany of abuse laid bare for her in a way she wasn’t sure Theon had even trusted Robb with. Maybe his therapist. She assumed his therapist, to help him find his way out of the hell Ramsay had made just for him._

_“That was the worst bit, you know, when it all went to hell,” said Theon. “That I loved him. I really loved him. I thought that letting him do… what he did, was showing him that I loved him. Because only someone that loved me so much would hurt me so much.”_

_*****_

It was no longer pinching now. It was more, an escalation. Fists against her ribs, hard enough to take the breath from her. Chunks of hair torn from her head, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to draw blood. Never anything that would show. Never anything on her face. But beneath her clothes, bruises bloomed over and over. 

And then…

And then… Joffrey would put her to bed, draw the blankets over her, bring her cups of tea made just as she liked. He would say sorry, apologise to her, cry, until she forgave him, again and again. 

He was broken. His life had broken him. His deeply weird family life had broken him. His mother’s reckless devotion to him had broken him. And Sansa Stark was strong and brave, and she would fix him. 

She would draw his head down to her, and let his tears soak into her hair, as she soothed him and loved him, because he had forgiven her for all her faults. 

*****

_“I didn’t want what he did to me,” said Theon. “I wanted… I don’t know… I wanted pain. External pain. Pain outside is easy. Easier than pain inside. But getting someone to punch me would have been enough. What Ramsay did… the scars… I didn’t need that. I told myself… I told myself that I did… that I wanted it. But I didn’t. You just have to tell yourself that it’s… that it’s okay… because otherwise you can’t live through it. I thought - sometimes I just wanted to die. To stop it. But I didn’t. I did everything I could to survive. You learn to survive anything. You learn strategy and survival techniques you can’t imagine. Every minute is another minute they haven’t killed you and that’s what you cling to.”_

_Theon closed his eyes for a moment, shifted slightly on his seat on the windowsill, then sighed deeply, as if he had found some place of courage deep inside himself, enough to say what he wanted to say._

_“There wasn’t much he could threaten me with. The dogs were his, he’d driven everyone I loved away, he couldn’t threaten me with anything other than hurting me and he did that anyway, so…” Theon shrugged. “So he didn’t use threats. He broke me. Morally. Made me do things I would never have chosen to do. Not by my own choice. Stealing from you, from all of you. Gods, from Bran and Rickon, who were just… babies. I didn’t want to, but he said if I didn’t, he’d come to Winterfell, to get my stuff and I… I couldn’t risk what he would do. And then he…” Theon stopped, waited to order the thoughts in his head, find the words for them. Sansa waited patiently for him to continue, unsure why Theon was trusting her with all of this, but appreciating his deep need to be allowed to finish saying it._

_“You know, we didn’t even really have sex,” continued Theon. “It wasn’t Ramsay’s thing, not really. Hurting people was his thing. He… I mean I was hardly naive, Sans. I knew enough about BDSM to know how it should work. To know about boundaries, and permission, and safe words. He used to make me watch. With people who liked what he wanted to do with them. And he made me watch when he ignored their safe words, when he did what he wanted to them, what they didn’t want him to do.” Theon ran his hands over his face, through his hair, scrubbed them against his jeans. “I know I wasn’t complicit - Drowned God, my therapist has spent the last few years convincing me of that. But it made me feel like I was. Like… like it was my fault that he was doing this. Like if I’d been better, he wouldn’t have needed to… I didn’t think anyone could ever take me back, ever want me back, after I was a part of that. Until Yara. And Robb. And you. All of you Starks. I couldn’t have made it by myself. Could never have got away. Without you all to save me.”_

_He ground to a halt then, a deep silence stretching between the two of them, until Sansa finally stretched out her hand again, took Theon’s fingers in hers, squeezed them gently._

_“I’ll do it, Theon,” she said, softly. “Memorise your phone number. I really… I really don’t think I’ll need to do it, but I’ll recite it as many times as you need to hear it before I go.”_

_It took him a long moment, but finally his fingers returned her squeeze and he shot her a grateful glance._

_“I hope you’re right,” he said. “I really hope you’re right,” he repeated and he managed a smile that only trembled a little bit around the edges. “But thank you. For doing it. It helps.”_

_*****_

Sansa listened to the change in Joffrey’s breathing, the shortening of it as he thrust inside her, comforted herself with the knowledge that he was nearly done. She hadn’t wanted to have sex with him, rarely did these days, but it was easier to just agree and get it done with. He was often gentler afterwards and that was worth the discomfort of the weight of him, the pain of his thrusting inside of her, the lack of interest he had in her gaining any pleasure at all in what he was doing to her. 

Then his breath grew ragged against her neck, his hips stuttering against her and he was done. Sansa waited patiently, made the approving noises that seemed to work best with him, felt relief as he withdrew and hopped off her. He went straight to the ensuite, showered immediately, as if the feel of her against his skin was disgusting. Sansa gathered herself together, pulled the sheet over herself, covering up the new fresh bruises that ached beneath her ribs.

He reappeared in the ensuite doorway, clad in boxer shorts now, towelling his hair dry. Sansa arranged a pretty smile on her face, conciliation in her gaze, trying to work out what he wanted from her. 

He told her soon enough. “I’ve got a friend coming over tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll have to make dinner for him.”

“Of course,” replied Sansa. She weighed up whether it was better to ask or not, thought of how she could word it. “I’d like to cook them something they’d like. May I ask who it is?”

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed, but apparently this time the question would be permitted. “It’s Meryn Trant,” he replied and Sansa’s heart sank. She hated Trant, a man who didn’t even attempt to hide his cruel streak. But she nodded, kept the pretty smile on her face. 

“I owe him a favour,” added Joffrey, casually. “So you’re going to fuck him tomorrow.”

There was a white space in Sansa’s consciousness, like a few frames cut out of a movie. Then the world came back and Joffrey was still there looking at her and she heard, “What?” come out of her mouth.

“He wants to fuck you. I owe him a favour. So he’s going to fuck you tomorrow, Sansa.”

“No.” There was no thought behind it, no strategy, no weighing of how to manage Joffrey’s mercurial mood shifts. Just a visceral rejection of what Joffrey was telling her to do. What he was making her into. 

He was so fast that she didn’t even see him cross the room, didn’t have time to do more than get her hands up in front of her face, before he was pushing them aside, the full weight of his knees landing on the bottom of her ribs, knocking the breath out of her, and then his arm was across her throat, pressing down hard and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw breath, fighting hard to pull in air and there was nothing.

In a crystal moment of clarity, Sansa thought, ~ _He’s going to kill me._ ~

Then she was reaching up, scratching, hitting, trying anything to get Joffrey’s weight off her, his arm off her throat, to draw breath. She felt everything begin to go black and then he lifted his weight off her throat, let her draw a desperate gasping breath. 

“Are you going to do what I said?” Joffrey said and leaned down again, pushed his weight into her throat again. 

Sansa flailed upwards, madly trying to reach his face, his eyes, anything to get him off her, felt her hands crash against the bedside table, scattering things to the floor, pillows falling from the bed as she fought, and then he released her throat again, let her draw another gasping breath. “Well?” he asked and as he began to lean on her again, Sansa nodded desperately and couldn’t help the terrified sob that ripped from her as he took his arm away, dropped his knees from her stomach to the bed, let her breathe. 

Joffrey rolled away from her then, off the bed, looked down at her huddled under the sheet, trying to make herself as small as possible. “I already know you’re a whore, Sansa,” he said. “Fucking Meryn will just prove to you exactly who you really are Miss High and Haughty Sansa Stark. Now I’m going out. Make sure you’ve cleaned up this mess by the time I get back.”

She nodded then, not taking her eyes from him as he dressed, walked out of the room. She heard the front door slam and then his car reversing out of the driveway. 

“He’s going to kill me,” she said to herself, tasting the truth of it in her mouth, in the blood that coated her tongue from where she’d bitten it in her desperate struggle to breathe. There was no fixing this, no fixing him. There was nothing to fix. There was just the fact that the man she ( _had_ ) loved would kill her soon. 

She moved quickly then, knowing she wouldn’t have long, a trip to the bathroom to clean her face, brush her teeth to remove the taste of blood. She barely looked at the red marks across her throat, but she could see the redness of her eyes from where blood vessels had burst in her desperate struggle to breathe. 

She didn’t bother to put any clothes on, but turned the lights off behind her as she went through the house, leaving it dark as she made her way to the front door, which she opened. She slipped through it, but then doubled back, down the side of the house and into the back garden. 

She had loved gardening, back when Joffrey had let her do it, loved the contrast with Winterfell’s icy winters in the lush foliage she’d been able to coax out of the sun-drenched oasis that was the backyard. It meant she padded sure-footed to the back corner of the yard, dug deep into the soil and unearthed the package she’d concealed there so long ago, when she had managed to scrounge a few dollars here and there out from under Joffrey’s nose. She pulled on the grey nylon track pants and top, the cheap trainers, clutched the few dollars she’d concealed in the pockets. Then she found the love seat, hidden deep in the corner of the walls, and used it to push herself over the wall and into the backyard of the neighbour behind them. 

For an instant, Sansa thought of seeking their help, but she remembered what Theon had told her, so long ago, and instead she snuck through their side gate and out into the street. She stuck to the shadows, a desperate swift walk away, away from Joffrey, away from everything she’d wasted her life on this last year or so. She didn’t dare hail a cab until she was over a dozen blocks away and then she made him drive her down to Flea Bottom, to a 7/11 the driver knew of that had a working phone booth. She sat quietly in the back of the cab, but she could see the driver’s eyes on her sometimes and she thought she saw sympathy there, a level of understanding she could barely deal with. Sansa suddenly realised she probably wasn’t the first woman, red eyes, the gasping breath of ribs she suspected were broken, that the cab driver had driven away from what had been her home. 

He waited for her as she went into the phone booth, called the number she had memorised so long ago, had recited silently to herself over and over when Joffrey had been at his worst. 

Theon’s “Hello?” was sleepy when he answered, but she could feel him grow alert as she whispered, “Theon. It’s Sansa. I need… help. He’s going to kill me.”

“Is there any chance he knows where you are?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Sansa. “He was out. I ran. Far away from anywhere he’s been with me. I didn’t bring anything with me that he’s touched. I’m in Flea Bottom. I took a cab. The cab driver is waiting for me.”

“Okay,” replied Theon. “Give me the number of the phone booth you’re in. I’ll call you back shortly. And tell the cab driver there’ll be another cab there for you soon. It will mean less chance of Joffrey finding you, if you change cabs. I’ll call you back in five minutes, Sansa. Just hold on.”

She nodded, put the receiver down with hands that shook. When she went back to the cab driver and told him that another cab would be coming, he nodded and his eyes were warm with sympathy. It nearly broke her fragile self control, that someone understood, seemed to understand, that she wasn’t the only one that had ever made this mistake, but she held onto her dignity as if it was the only thing she could salvage. 

The phone rang exactly five minutes later and Theon’s voice was there for her again. He gave her the details of a motel, deep in Flea Bottom, where she would find a room waiting for her, and a few minutes later, another cab drew up beside her phone booth, took her there. 

The clerk at the motel seemed deeply uninterested in Sansa’s appearance, just gave her the key to the room and said, “Your husband said he’d be here as soon as he could get a flight organised, Mrs Greyjoy,” and Sansa nodded, thankful that somehow Theon seemed to have sorted out all of the paperwork and payment and she could simply take the key and go into the room, and lock the door, place the chair under the handle and huddle in the middle of the bed, unmoving, unsleeping. 

The lights of the car swept to the front of the room around 3am, parked in front of it. She didn’t know how Theon had managed it, assumed he’d managed to get on the red eye flight from Winterfell, but the sound of his voice at the door, confirming it was him, nearly made her weep.

She held it together though, as she had learned to do. 

He didn’t say anything until he was in the room, the door safely closed behind him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked then and Sansa thought about it and shook her head. 

His hand reached up, didn’t touch her, but indicated her throat. “Do you need cleaning up?” he asked and this time Sansa nodded.

He was gentle with her hurts, feeling her ribs with the lightest touch of fingers when she lifted her shirt, taped them so it hurt less when she breathed. He saw the bruises but there was little that could be done about them but he bandaged over the cut on the back of her wrist that she hadn’t even noticed, probably caused by her hitting the bedside lamp as she had flailed at Joffrey. Theon had stood at the door of the bathroom, the door slightly ajar so she could see his back, guarding her as she washed away the feeling of Joffrey on her skin. He had brought her clothes, including pyjamas and she huddled inside them once she was clean. 

He had gone to sit by the window as she settled into the bed but she called his name softly and he came back, tucking her into bed as if she was five years old. She remembered then, holding his hand on the way back from Ramsay’s, and she reached her hand out to him. He understood without her asking, and settled next to her on the bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers and then curled his fingers around hers.

She held his hand until she went to sleep. 

She woke, hours later, as the first light of the sun came through the windows and his hand was gone but then she saw him silhouetted against the light, watching out the window, keeping her safe, and she slept again, the deep sleep of utter exhaustion. 

It was late afternoon before she finally woke properly and he had food waiting for her, a simple takeaway meal, made her a cup of tea the way she liked it. 

Sansa still didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t press her. “How,” she asked, her voice hoarse with the damage Joffrey had done to her throat, “did you organise this?”

“You know how I volunteer with the women’s shelter sometimes?” Theon asked.

Sansa nodded. “You help with their IT,” she said. 

Theon nodded. “I help with this,” he said. “There’s an ex-cop, ex-spy. Runs it all. With tech these days, there’s tracking on phones, on computers - there’s so many ways abusers can keep track of their partners… there’s a reason I get so pissed off every time I see an app for parents to secretly track their teenagers.” He sighed. “I rang Brienne last night when you were sleeping and she’s pulling all of it apart for me. Joffrey’s had tracking software on your computer, your phone, he’s controlling your bank accounts and credit cards, he’s been sending emails and texts and messages as if he was you. In case you were wondering why Robb hasn’t come racing down to King’s Landing to rescue you.” Theon looked at the expression on Sansa’s face, reached his hand out, letting it hover over hers without touching her. “I’m sorry, Sans, but you needed to know. You need to know why we’re in the middle of trashing your electronic life right now. Unwinding Joffrey from all of it.”

“What do you do?” asked Sansa, trying not to understand what Theon was telling her about what Joffrey had been doing. What had he been telling her family?

“Coordinate,” said Theon. “We’ve got cops and judges and hotels and drivers and shelters and bank employees and babysitters and doctors and all sorts of people we can call on to help a woman when she can get away. We try and make it possible for women to escape when they need to.” Theon looked down at his hands, fiddled with his fingers in a way that didn’t quite call attention to the gap in them. “It’s a good thing to do, Sansa. It… helps.”

She reached out then, let her hand touch his for a moment. “It helped me,” she said simply and her smile was fragile but real. 

They stayed another night, Theon sleeping in the chair, lodged against the door to make Sansa feel safe. In the morning, a package arrived and Theon gave Sansa a new, clean phone and a replacement driver’s licence. She looked at him in amazement that it had already been done and he shrugged. “Brienne is… impressive,” he said. “You’ll meet her tomorrow,” he said. 

“Tomorrow?” asked Sansa.

“We’re flying to Whiteharbour,” replied Theon. “I don’t want to take you straight back to Winterfell, not until we’ve sorted out a few more things but we can’t stay in King’s Landing. Not as long as Joffrey is here,” and Sansa nodded in agreement. 

“Sansa,” said Theon, softly and she looked at him. “The family doesn’t know. Joffrey… Joffrey was pretending to be you. Enough, just enough, to stop them worrying. They just think you’ve been extra busy at University. I think… I think it’ll be helpful to let Ned and Catelyn know. Ned can talk to Robert. I think that might help with keeping Joffrey under control. I can talk to them for you. Tell them what happened. If that’s what you want.”

“I…” said Sansa, and stopped. What did she want?

*****

The woman waiting beyond the security gate at Whiteharbour airport was, indeed, impressive. Well over six foot, her short blonde hair and authoritative gaze made it clear that anyone taking her on would be a fool. 

“Brienne,” Theon said to Sansa, indicating the tall woman. 

And then Brienne stepped aside and Catelyn and Robb were there, waiting for her, and Sansa was nearly running, until she fell into the arms of her mother and her brother, and realised that she could go home again. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So this - this was quite the strange and compelling section of this particular universe to write. As I have previously mentioned, I have an awareness of domestic violence issues as some of my prior work experience involved dealing with related issues. 
> 
> In terms of research, I am currently reading the remarkable See What You Made Me Do by Jess Hill, an intensely researched investigation of power, control and domestic abuse within an Australian context. It sets out the psychological steps involved in domestic abuse relationships and I have used this to inform this story. I have also used a number of different sources of information on electronic surveillance and its use (and increasing ubiquity) in domestic abuse and the work of some quite remarkable people to find and remove surveillance from abused women. 
> 
> (For those interested, the steps are 1. Establish love and trust 2. Isolate 3. Monopolise perception 4. Induce debility and exhaustion 5. Enforce trivial demands 6. Demonstrate omnipotence 7. Alternate punishment with rewards 8. Threats 9. Degradation)(Also to note - the number one indicator for likely future homicide in abusive relationships is attempted strangulation.)
> 
> Lyrics to The Things We Did And Didn’t Do
> 
> All the things I knew I didn't know and didn't want to know  
> That you told me just to tell me later that you'd told me so  
> Come flooding back to me now  
> Come on  
> Come flooding back to me now  
> All the…  
> All the things you said you'd never say and you said anyway  
> The things we did and didn't do  
> The things we did and didn't do  
> Come flooding back to me now


End file.
